


The Cinnamon Cure

by painting



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Common Cold, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:25:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painting/pseuds/painting
Summary: Being sick always comes with a sore throat, headache, coughing, sneezing, congestion, warm drinks, sitting under a cozy blanket on the couch and spending a dim and hazy evening with your boyfriends who wouldn't rather be anywhere else.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hunk is sick this time and i love him and i'm having a blast

Hunk liked grapes. Keith had seen him drinking wine before and eating them off the stem as a snack, so he didn’t understand why he was rejecting the medicated grape-flavored syrup Keith held in his hand.

“Lance said you were sick,” Keith explained, briefly raising the arm that was holding the bottle.

“…So you brought me cold medicine,” Hunk deduced, just before his face lit up. “Aw, Keith, that’s so sweet. You didn’t have to do that. But, uh.” He looked uncomfortable, shifting his position on the couch and clearing his throat. “Keith, you know that stuff is for kids, right?”

Keith’s expression froze as he looked down at the bottle. “It still works, doesn’t it?”

“No offense, man, but it doesn’t even taste like grapes. Trust me. When you get sick, you can try and see for yourself,” Hunk said. His voice was rough and scratchy, but the usual bright and warm energy carried through in his tone. He lifted an arm, inviting Keith to join him underneath the blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders.

“I’m not going to get sick,” Keith promised. He set down the useless bottle of _children’s_ cold syrup and joined his boyfriend on the couch. “You’re warm.”

“Sorry, I—”

“No, it’s not bad.” He leaned his head against Hunk’s chest. “I’m still—”

“ _Hh’TSSCCHHHHhue!_ God, sorry. Still what?”

“Bless you,” Keith said, settling back in after Hunk’s chest jostled him as he sneezed. “Still, uh. Cold, from being outside. Maybe that’s why you got sick?”

“I always wear a jacket,” Hunk said defensively between sniffles. He pressed his palm against the side of his nose and rubbed it rapidly up and down. “God, this thing is driving me crazy.”

The scraping sound of the deadbolt interrupted Keith before he could respond, followed by the _click!_ of the door unlatching and Lance’s footsteps in the room.

“Hold the applause, Hunk, your nurse has _arri_ —Keith!” Lance began to set paper shopping bags down on the table. “You’re here too! Oh, man, I would’ve brought extra stuff for you…” 

“I’m not sick,” Keith said, his voice unsurprisingly argumentative.

“Yeah, okay.” Lance shrugged and started unpacking the groceries. “Hunk, how you feelin’?”

“Been better.” That was something Lance really, _really_ appreciated about Hunk – unlike Lance’s other boyfriend, he was freaking honest. “I mostly… _hhHH’ETSSSCHue!_ Ahh, _jeez_. Mostly keep doing that.”

“ _Bless_ you,” Lance replied enthusiastically and Keith murmured an echo of the same. Lance turned on the faucet and started tinkering with something in the kitchen. “That’s a little better, right? Sneezing is at least more fun than coughing.”

“What? No it’s not,” Keith said. “Coughing gives you a little control. With sneezing you can’t do anything about it.”

“Are you just, like, trying to be obstinate?” Lance asked. Keith couldn’t see him, but he heard a clinking noise coming from where Lance was standing in the kitchen, and then the sound of water being poured into something. “Coughing hurts. With sneezing there’s the whole _release_.”

“Lance kind of has a point,” Hunk said. “Sorry Keith. But for the record, I don’t think any part of being sick is very fun.”

“Yeah. That’s true, Lance, what the hell?”

“You guys just gotta learn to roll with the punches,” Lance insisted. “Like, you get to miss work and watch TV all day. And if you take a nap at 2 in the afternoon it’s totally normal and no one calls you lazy. _And_ ,” he listed, finally entering the living room with a steaming yellow mug, “your boyfriend makes you the best cinnamon hot chocolate _in the world_ and you get to drink as much as you want until the cinnamon stock at the market next door runs out.” 

Hunk accepted the cup from Lance’s hands, his smile bright and beaming. “Aw. Thanks Lance. I hope I’m able to taste it,” he said just before taking a sip. “Wow. That’s really good,” he remarked. “The flavor’s there and everything!”

“Right? That’s why it’s so great for colds,” Lance agreed proudly. He sat sideways on the couch next to Hunk so that his legs were sprawled over Hunk and Keith’s laps, with one of Lance’s arms on the armrest and the other around Hunk.

“Let me try it,” Keith said. Hunk, with all of his selfless grace, passed the mug to him. “This _is_ good,” Keith agreed after tasting it, then handed the cup back.

“You’re gonna catch what he has, you know,” Lance warned, but his tone wasn’t very ominous.

“No,” Keith corrected. “You always get sick first. I’m surprised it was Hunk this time and not you.”

“Please. With my steel immunity? Not a chance,” Lance said.

“’Steel immunity’ doesn’t count for much when you share a bed with someone,” Hunk added helpfully. He didn’t mention his doubts about Lance having that great of an immune system to begin with. He took care of himself fine – definitely much better than Keith did – but he was always _touching_ everything, like he was perpetually in a competition to see how quickly he could expose himself to as many germs as possible.

Lance frowned and changed the subject. “Is it helping?” he asked, pointing to Hunk’s drink.

“Yeah, my throat feels a little better,” Hunk said.

“ _Good!_ Always does the trick. I’ll make a whole pot tomorrow for Keith, too,” Lance teased.

Keith shook Lance’s foot. “You mean for yourself.”

“Hmm, I guess we’ll just have to see.” Lance stretched out so that his feet were hanging over the other armrest, and he craned his torso to reach for the remote on the coffee table. He set it down on top of his own knees, which were on top of Hunk’s lap, like it was some sort of sacrificial offering. “Here. You pick something.”

With the sun setting behind the canopy of trees outside and the soft light coming from the lamp on the table beside him, Hunk couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t fall asleep sandwiched between the comforting warmth of his boyfriends. But, he reminded himself, that was what nights like these were for.


End file.
